Point Of View
by ArcaFeretory
Summary: "It was that blonde's fault." - AU but inspired by logic.


**I just wanted to explore this idea. It seemed valid.**

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He wasn't a bad guy. Not really. Sure, he'd made some mistakes, but really; who hadn't? Just because she didn't see it his way, didn't let him explain the whole story, just because she decided to go absolutely _bat shit crazy_ (no pun intended… he doesn't think) without hearing him out. Well that's not his fault. It's not.

Still, he wondered idly as his fingers drummed against his dashboard if she'd listen to him before calling him a creepy stalker _this_ time. Because – and let's be honest here – sitting in a car outside her place of work waiting for her to finish her shift… _probably_ not the best way to go about this. Only mildly creepy from his point of view. But she has a fickle temper and _god_ only knows what will set the psychotic woman off.

Seriously. How was it _his fault_ that she left her stupid trinket just lying around at the garage sale? Did she expect no one would pick it up? Geez. Now he was the bad guy.

Now he was the villain and he had to live with the fact that she'd stormed out of his place and into someone else's. Not that he couldn't see _why_, honestly, the little blonde girl was easy on the eyes. But just because he could understand that didn't mean he wasn't still miffed about the whole thing. Sheesh. They'd had a _deal_.

She couldn't stand to live with her dad through college and couldn't afford a place of her own. So she got to live with him and pay her board by cooking his meals and such. Domestic stuff. He thought it was a pretty good deal; he couldn't stand to do the cleaning anyway. But he makes one lousy mistake and she's gone.

He sighed, fiddling with the dial on the radio to turn up the volume, trying to blot out his own thoughts. He couldn't contemplate what he was going to say when she appeared. That wouldn't end well, he'd just convince himself to leave and not bother.

He checked his watch and exhaled heavily again, watching his breath mist up the windscreen and absently wondering how much longer he'd have to sit around waiting for Marceline to get off work. Her job was _not_ that fantastic. He would've knocked off early. But she was of this weird opinion that she could actually do something amazing with her life.

It was that blonde's fault.

He bolted upright, nearly jumping out of his skin, when there was a knock at the window. Glancing up, he scowled when he noticed that exact blonde all bundled up in layers of warmth against the cold glaring at him through the glass. Her mouth was a thin line, brow curved downwards in a graceful arc. Even in a foul mood she was damn fine. How unfortunate.

He rolled the window down, shivering as the brisk air surged inside. "What?" he demanded.

"What are you doing here, Ash?" she fired back angrily.

"Waiting," he said blithely. "For Marceline. What are _you_ doing here?"

Her expression didn't change. "I'm picking her up. Since… you know, that does make sense. Pretty sure she said she doesn't want to speak to you again." Now her frown deepened, the corners of her mouth dipping in displeasure.

Ash sucked in a breath, squaring his shoulders against both the bracing cold emanating from the woman and the biting breeze blowing through the window. "I just want a chance to explain myself." He could feel his eyebrows climbing his forehead in a challenging-type expression. He fought it (a little) but it wasn't in his nature so he just let the smirk shine through. "It _has_ been a year now. And," his gaze roved over her from top to bottom, "she seems to have moved on."

Her cheeks tinted pink, possibly from the icy weather, possibly from the way he was looking at her, possibly (and he hesitated to even consider it) due to how correct his innuendo had been. Out of the corner of his eye the doors swished open and someone stepped out. Both he and the woman swivelled to look and her frown melted into a giant smile when it was Marceline. He couldn't help but feel disgruntled that Marceline grinned just as big in return.

Until she saw him.

Then she glowered.

"What do you want, Ash?" Marceline snapped, sliding in close to her _girl_friend.

"To tell you I'm sorry and I didn't really mean to sell it and that the apartment is so empty without you and I'm just really, really sorry and I needed to tell you that and beg for your forgiveness because I was a jerk and I'm sorry." Wow that was a garbled mess. He had to take a deep breath after all that nonsense came flooding out because it had happened in one exhalation. He made a mental note to keep breathing between sentences next time.

Because there would most _definitely_ be a next time.

It was a cynical thought, but he knew himself. He just wished he knew Marceline.

"No."

He felt befuddled by that notion. "No?" he requested quietly, hoping for a little elucidation.

"No," Marceline sighed again. "You _can't_ have my forgiveness. You were an arsehat. You probably still are. I'm _happy_ so just… sod off." With that, she spun on her heel and stormed off. The blonde followed her, shooting him another frown for good measure.

For a pensive moment, Ash sat in his car wondering what had just happened. She was supposed to forgive him. She was supposed to let him back in. They could start as friends and eventually he'd replace that snooty blonde and life would go on as it should.

He was… _confused_.

Ash launched jerkily from the car and stumbled after them. "Hey!" he called. "Would you just listen to me? I'm sorry, alright?"

Marceline whirled back around, levelling a finger at him. "Alright, fine. You're sorry. That doesn't change the fact that the teddy I got from my _dying_ adoptive father who loved me more than my _actual_ father was sold for a _freaking universal remote_. You knew what it meant to me, and if you'd had any sense of moral decency you wouldn't have let it sell. But you _didn't_. So you can be sorry if you want. But that doesn't change anything and I still don't like you. If you speak to me again I will break you."

He blinked at her stern features. Marceline never looked stern. She never looked anything other than cavalier.

He blamed the blonde for this change too.

What a bitch.

Ash ran a hand through his faux-hawk, leering back at her. "And a heartfelt apology isn't good enough for you?"

She scoffed. "As if you could muster 'heartfelt' if you tried. At least Bonnie doesn't tell me how much I suck or use me as domestic labour. I get to do it _voluntarily_, without all the bossiness and nasty comments. So just shove off and let me be."

Finally, her index finger landed on his chest, jabbing sharply into his breastbone, sending him back a step. Marceline moved back to _Bonnie's_ side, winding their fingers together, making his heart lurch. He used to do that with her. He used to do everything with her.

But not anymore.

He supposed, he didn't _truly_ have anyone to blame for that but himself.

Still, he could glare after that pompous wench with her immaculate curls and fresh-pressed clothes. It made him feel better. Even if it didn't serve another purpose.

Marceline didn't look back.

Neither did Bonnie.

Ash slouched back to his car, cranking the heating up. There had to be something he could do to prove he was sorry, something to convince Marceline he was good for her. There had to be.

He began to brainstorm.

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**I am bothered by the fact that Ash isn't a character in the selection menu. But he _is_ a jerk of monumental proportions, so I can't be overly fussed. Eh.**


End file.
